The Holy Draft

Pope Francis is dead, his cleats hung up forever, his coaching whistle silent. The College of Cardinals assembles in their crimson jerseys, ready for the ultimate fantasy draft. This isn't just a coaching vacancy—it's the top job in the oldest franchise on earth.

The bookmakers are laying odds like it's the Kentucky Derby. Cardinal Tagle at 3 to 1, Parolin hanging at 4 to 1. The money moves in mysterious ways, just like the Holy Spirit supposedly does during these sacred hiring sessions. The oddsmakers don't know if God has a betting account, but His pick is the only one that matters when the ballots drop.

Tagle looks solid on paper. Good fundamentals, impressive international experience, plays well with Francis' system. But is he the right man to lead a Church that's losing market share faster than Blockbuster Video in 2007? The cardinals might want to think outside the confessional box.

What if they went after talent from another league? Imagine the headlines: "Vatican Signs Rabbi Goldstein to Five-Year Deal." The sports talk shows would explode. "He's got no experience with the Catholic playbook!" they'd shout. But sometimes you need fresh eyes on stale problems. A married religious leader with five kids and a beard you could hide a chalice in might shake things up. The Church hasn't had a pope with a beard since the Middle Ages, when facial hair was as common as plague.

The @pontifex Twitter account sits there like an unused five-star recruit, all potential and no production. Put a social media savvy spiritual leader in the papal apartments and watch those engagement metrics soar. The right influencer could turn "Laudato Si" into a trending hashtag. The Vatican has been around for two millennia but acts online like your grandfather trying to program his VCR.

What about one of those Substack prophets pulling down 50 grand a month writing about the culture wars? Freddie deBoer could clear 10 figures in Peter's chair. His first encyclical: "Against Educational Credentialism." The traditionalists would riot, but at least they'd read it.

The scouting report on current prospects is mixed. Parolin has the Italian home field advantage, but his diplomatic style might be too bland for a Church needing fire. Turkson would make history as the first African pope since ancient times when Christianity was headquartered in North Africa. Erdő brings that Eastern European defensive mindset—he'd lock down doctrinal boundaries tighter than Bill Belichick's injury reports.

The cardinals huddle like offensive assistants on fourth and long. The stakes couldn't be higher—souls hang in the balance while collection plates get lighter. The Church is running a prevent defense when it should be blitzing modern culture. Empty pews are the equivalent of empty seats at a Jacksonville Jaguars game, but without the excuse of poor performance on the field and poor management by the Khan family. Jesus never lost a game.

I've watched coaches get hired and fired faster than altar servers can ring the consecration bells. But popes get lifetime contracts with no buyout clauses. Only death or resignation can end their tenure, making this personnel decision more crucial than picking a first-round quarterback. Choose wrong, and you're stuck with mediocrity until the next papal funeral.

The last conclave brought in Francis, a surprise pick from South America, like when the Patriots drafted Tom Brady in the sixth round. Nobody expected him to change the game, but he rewrote parts of the playbook. He talked about mercy when others wanted strict enforcement of the rules. He washed the feet of prisoners while traditional fans wanted him focused on doctrine. He was Joe Maddon managing the Cubs—unorthodox but effective, until the winning percentage started to slip.

The Vatican's farm system isn't producing prospects like it once did. Seminaries that used to have mile-long waiting lists of closeted or autistic boys now offer scholarships just to fill their rosters. The nuns who terrorized kids in Catholic schools have largely disappeared, replaced by lay teachers who don't wield rulers like Louisville Sluggers. Today's young Catholics know more about Boy Wizard Harry Potter than Angelic Doctor Thomas Aquinas.

Meanwhile, the competition gets stronger. Megachurches with rock bands and coffee shops steal Catholic free agents. Eastern religions offer spiritual practices without guilt. Atheism presents the ultimate free agency—no rules, no games, no team loyalty required. The Church needs a recruiting coordinator more than a theologian.

Imagine the cardinals approaching Joel Osteen with a papal offer sheet. His smile alone could light up the Sistine Chapel without candles. “Be positive or be quiet,” he’ll tell the multitudes worried about their 401k accounts. Or maybe they'll go after a Catholic podcaster with millions of downloads who explains the faith between ads for mattresses and meal kits. The right media personality could make transubstantiation trend on TikTok.

But the cardinals will stick with their scouting reports. They'll draft from within their system, picking another frail old soft-handed man who climbed the ecclesiastical ladder rung by rung. The white smoke will rise, and a new coach will step onto the balcony wearing vestments that cost more than an NBA player's game-day outfit. He'll wave unsteadily to the crowd while cardinals who voted against him applaud politely like owners who wanted a different GM.

The Church measures time in centuries, not seasons. Popes are infallible but temporary; dogma is forever. While the NFL changes rules to boost scoring, the Vatican moves with the speed of continental drift. Its playbook was being written back when the Romans were allegedly still feeding Christians to lions, and revisions come slowly if at all.

Las Vegas has no line on how many souls will be saved under the next pontificate. The oddsmakers can't calculate grace or mercy or faith. They can only track the whispers from Vatican insiders who leak like NFL general managers before the draft. By the time you read this, the Holy Spirit may have made its pick, and a new shepherd will lead the Catholic flock.

Let's hope he can draw up some trick plays. The Church could use a Hail Mary right about now.